


Capital-C Crisis

by BoxOnTheNile



Series: Moral Dysregulation [2]
Category: Time Bombs (Podcast), Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Emotional Dysregulation, Knitcobi, M/M, Multi, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Teller has a Giant Gay Crush, Trans Daniel Jacobi, eventual polyamory, jacobi is midland, rating is for the last chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 07:41:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18027578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxOnTheNile/pseuds/BoxOnTheNile
Summary: Simon Teller likes girls; he's married two of them. But when Mark Midland joins his team, he wonders if girls are theonlythings he likes. Then, it turns out Mark isn't all he seems, and Teller falls further in lust with Daniel Jacobi and his lack of a moral compass. Too bad Daniel's boyfriend, Doug, is in the picture.Also, incredible juxtapositions, crayon boxes full of firecrackers, and not playing fair.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS A DIRECT SEQUEL TO CONSPIRACY THEORIES. PLEASE READ THAT FIRST.
> 
> So technically the voting at the end of Conspiracy Theories meant I was supposed to do grief counselling first but I already had the beginning of this written so.... 
> 
> The three chapters is tentative bc I have NO IDEA what im doing like always

Simon Teller is having a capital-c Crisis. 

He supposes it could be worse? Most of the time, the crises he deals with could end in death and destruction, and neither of those are currently a concern. But while this Crisis is a little more mundane than usual, he's still freaking out about it.

Thirty-seven is too fucking old for a gay panic, but here he is, looking at Mark _fucking_ Midland and wondering if kissing him would taste like coffee or gunpowder or whiskey or a heady mix of all three.

Or is it Daniel _fucking_ Jacobi, now? Either way, it doesn't matter, because Daniel has Doug Eiffel at his apartment four nights out of the week and no matter how much Simon wants Daniel– Midland– _Jacobi_ in his bed, it's not happening.

The crush didn't used to be so bad. Midland was competent and funny and while he took the job way too seriously, he was good company. But since the Aleski Incident, since _Daniel_ , Simon has seen a new side of him. Bitingly witty, vague morality, and an insane streak that made Simon look _normal._

He's a little ashamed to say that even Daniel's disregard over the death of the SI-5 agent three months ago is thrilling. Jacobi is an incredible juxtaposition, one that talked casually about murder while knitting socks for his boyfriend, and Simon wants him in the worst kind of way.

“You've got it bad,” Radio Bob tells Simon one night as he watches Daniel leave.

“I know,” he says miserably. “Normally I'd say I want him to sit on my face, but–”

“He can still technically wrap his legs around your head.”

“ _Goddamn,_ ” Simon whispers, breathless. Then, “Bob! He’s got a boyfriend.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t fantasize.”

Simon is _well_ aware of that. Mid—Jacobi has featured in his sexual fantasies for nearly a year at this point. Sometimes, recently, even Doug makes an appearance, making soft suggestions about the best ways to make Daniel writhe. 

If he follows that train of thought much further he’s going to have a problem. He bids Radio Bob goodbye and goes home. It’s fucking _shameful_ how fast comes in his shower, imagining Daniel’s hands on him and a teasing, panted, _“C’mon, Boss.”_

He’s not entirely certain how much longer he can keep doing this.

 

* * *

 

It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just lust, Simon thinks, but it isn’t. He wants _more_ than that. Originally, he was going to wait until Midland’s probation wrapped up, then he was waiting to see if they could even be friends after that power imbalance was gone, and _then_ Midland was actually Jacobi was actually a borderline horrible fucking person. 

Simon still had the occasional nightmare over the death—murder?—of Cayley Perelman, but Daniel, by his own admission, had barely regretted it. It should have been a cue to run far, far away.

But.

But in still, quiet moments, when they could coax stories of Alana Maxwell from him, or when Isabel Lovelace swung by for lunch, or at the weekly “Crew Dinners” that Simon and Bob were occasionally invited to, Daniel was different. Softer. He may have lacked integrity, but he was loyal to a fault, and he stuck to the morality of those he cared for. Most of the time.

“It’s not even a crush anymore,” Simon complains to Bob two days after their last discussion about this goddamn _predicament._ “This is straight-up _pining_ , Bob. I thought only teenage girls _pined_.”

“Oh, Simon,” Bob sighs, one hand on Simon’s shoulder. “Speak of the devil…” he murmurs as Daniel makes his way into the EOD tech office, holding a Starbucks cup with a pastry held between his teeth as he typed on his phone. He glances up and behind him as Doug Eiffel suddenly skids into the room and swaps cups with him. Doug kisses his cheek and darts out the door again while a couple techs from other units wolf whistle.

“Get it, Midland!” one shouts, and Daniel turns a glare on them. It’s annoyed, though, not angry; Simon has seen Daniel angry, once, in a shouting match with Lieutenant Minkowski several weeks ago. That was terrifying.

Daniel weaves his way around desks and sets his cup down. He grabs his danish with his now free hand. “Hey boss, Bob,” he says through a mouthful of pastry.

“Hey, Midland,” Bob says. The two of them are pretty good at keeping to his alias at work, mostly because they still end up calling him Mark everywhere else. “Doug take you to work?”

“Isa, actually,” Daniel says, stuffing more of his danish into his mouth. This time, he swallows before he speaks. “Doug had his license revoked a few years ago and can’t retest until September.”

“What did he _do_?” Radio Bob wheedles, but Simon has a guess.

“Drunk driving,” he says with certainty. “It’s why he never drinks at dinner or the party, right? Recovering alcoholic.”

“ _Successfully_ recovering,” Daniel says, voice tinged with pride. “Anyway, he’s antsy, so he and Isabel are going to a park so he can faceplant into the grass.” He lowers his voice so the other techs can’t hear. “Sometimes he and Minkowski and Isabel need a reminder that they’re home. They spent… a lot of time in space, and I don’t know how to help with this.”

“Are we ever gonna get that whole story?” Simon asks him, voice just as soft. Daniel shrugs.

“Even I only have part of it, and not the from perspective you want.”

“Professional vaguely terrible person,” Bob says, shrugging himself. “Did you hear about the little yarn shop that opened near here? I saw it on my way in this morning.”

And like that, the tension is broken. Daniel starts grilling Bob for details, and another tech makes a joke which has him threatening to stab them with his knitting needles, he will, God help him, Ortez.

It's a quiet day, mostly paperwork and boredom. Daniel actually pulls out his knitting, at one point, listening to some mandatory seminar at his desk through his headphones as his needles work. He's so focused, hands stilling every few moments as he listens, eyes distant and thoughtful.

Simon doesn't realize he's staring until Daniel glances up and catches his gaze. “Boss?”

Simon startles, eliciting more childish giggles from their coworkers. “Yes, Midland?”

“If you're really _that_ interested, I _can_ teach you. It's a trap, though. A yarn trap.”

Oh thank _fuck_ , he thought Simon was entranced by his knitting. “Nah, I won't have the patience for it.”

Daniel snorts. “You can defuse a bomb, but God forbid you spend more than fifteen minutes on anything else,” he mumbles, and Simon breathes a sigh of relief.

He's got to find a way to deal with this fucking crush.

 

* * *

 

Daniel closes the door of his apartment behind him. The clinking in the kitchen stops, and Doug calls out, “You’re home!”

Daniel doesn't fight the grin that comes to his face. He's never been _comfortable_ with coming home to someone unexpectedly. Alana always gave a heads-up and Kepler, well. Kepler meant a fight or sex, most likely both. Doug, though, he means dinner and bad movies and cuddling on the couch. Doug means popcorn and knitting without judgement and soft praise.

Daniel makes his way into the kitchen and watches Doug flip something in a skillet. “Are those pancakes?”

“I can make pancakes, grill cheese, and order pizza. I thought about grilled cheese but you have weird, fancy cheese in your fridge.”

“It's goat cheese.”

“It's fancy.”

“I’m lactose intolerant.”

“Really?” Doug looks away from the stove, a half-panicked expression on his face.

“No,” Daniel snorts. He heads to the stove, wrapping his arms around Doug’s waist and pressing his face between his shoulder blades. “Alana was, and she was at my apartment all the time, so I kept shit like almond milk in my fridge. Didn’t quite break the habit for a while. Milk went bad. Trying to figure out what to do with the cheese before I have to throw it out, but… but Kepler was the only one of us that could really cook.”

Doug hums, transferring the pancake from the skillet to a plate before pouring more batter. “I bet you can make grilled cheese with it. Tomorrow?”

“I’m on night shift tomorrow, and the day after is Friday.”

“I am capable of bringing my boyfriend dinner. I think. You’re typically in the big government building, right?”

“Unless we get a call, yeah. But Teller would have an aneurysm, probably.”

“How so–oh. Isabel's right, isn't she?”

“Giant gay crush. This is new; normally I'm the one in love with my boss, not the other way around.”

It's easier to talk about them, now. Still hurts, a dull ache in Daniel's heart, but it doesn't feel like dying. He still thinks he should probably call his therapist again, though, because of Perelman. 

Doug flips the pancake and turns in Daniel's arms, tilting his chin up to kiss him sweetly. “Are you gonna confront him?”

“Haven't decided yet. Now that I've seen it, it's been going on for a while, and…”

“And?”

“Please remember I'm a bad person. It's not unwelcome? It's… I have power. And honestly, if he'd gotten off his ass a few months ago and asked me for, whatever, sex or dinner or something, I would've said yes.”

“I want you weekends and holidays,” Doug says. Daniel puts his hands on Doug's shoulders and holds him at arm's length. “I'm serious, Daniel. If that's a thing you want, I'm capable of sharing. I went to kindergarten.”

“So I'm a box of crayons?”

“You're more a bunch of firecrackers one of the older kids hid in a box of crayons.”

Daniel snickers, dropping his head against Doug's chest. “I'll think about it. Your pancake is burning.” 

“Fuck!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive had this chapter done for a month what the fuck is wrong with me

Midland–fuck, _Jacobi–_ looks up from his paperwork when an officer escorts Doug Eiffel through the EOD offices. Doug drops a paper bag on Daniel's desk with a triumphant laugh.

“Eiffel,” Daniel says, flat. “It’s ten p.m. and I've already been here six hours. What the fuck is this.”

“Grilled cheese,” Eiffel tells him, and he's _smug_. There's something Simon is missing here. “Made with goat cheese and avocado.”

Daniel stares for a second longer before he starts to snicker. “You're an idiot.” His voice is fond.

Simon is absolutely not jealous. He's _not_. 

“Reneé said to tell you two that you're invited to family night tomorrow, if you're not dead from tonight's shift,” Doug says over his shoulder to Bob and Simon.

“Metaphorically or literally?” Bob asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“What's with the grilled cheese?” Simon asks.

“Both, and settling a bet.” Doug grins at Daniel. “Firecrackers.”

“That is _not_ the metaphor we're using. Go home.”

“I love you," Doug says cheerfully as he leaves, and Jacobi looks like he's been shot.

"Midland?" Bob calls softly, and Jacobi shoves the bag from his desk to the trash can next to it. 

"I'm fine!" he lies, voice bright. "I just definitely need to call my therapist again."

"Over your boyfriend saying 'I love you'?" Cunningham from Unit 248 leaned over the divider his desk shared with Midland's. "I'm in therapy because my wife _won't_ say it."

"I'm a deeply fucked-up individual, Jason," Mark—Jacobi snaps. 

“Jesus, okay!” Cunningham lifts his hands in surrender and disappears back behind the divider. 

Simon watches Daniel for a moment. “Would you like to run field for the last six hours, Detective Midland?”

“Yes please,” he says quickly, and grabs his bag.

 

* * *

 

It’s an unsurprisingly quiet night, but the van is more private than the cubicles, and Daniel is visibly more comfortable working through his shit here. He actually types up an email to his therapist while they wait, and they spend most of their downtime swapping drunk stories. 

“Hey, Mark—I mean, Dan?” Bob asks. “So I saw a video the other day about an astronaut from the ISS just letting go of shit because he forgot about gravity. Is that what was happening when you first started and you dropped a full cup of coffee on the sidewalk?”

“Fuck you, of course not,” Daniel says.

“So the sandwich you dropped and caught in your second month was just, what, a test of your abilities?”

“Did you just quote fucking Naruto?”

The crackle of the radio interrupts the laughter in the van. _“Attention, unit 214, attention, unit 214.”_

Radio Bob does his name justice and lunges for the receiver. “Go ahead Dispatch.”

Jacobi actually laughs at the IED when he sees it, and Simon doesn’t blame him. The thing is shoddy, and Simon takes it apart in his head six times in six different ways before they even get up to it.

In fact, he’s pretty sure if he does it this way it’s a seventh…

The fucking thing beeps, and Simon and Daniel make eye contact through their EOD helmets the second before Daniel tackles him the the ground and the thing explodes.

 

* * *

 

The ex-crew of the Hephaestus burst into the ER room where a nurse is picking shrapnel out of Daniel’s arm. He’s very calm about it, even watching as she extracts another bloody shard of metal and drops it on a piece of gauze. 

Doug stutters his way through three names and the starts of four sentences before Lovelace sets a hand on his shoulder. “You okay, Mark?” she asks.

"I'm benched for a few weeks, but it doesn't look like there's any nerve damage," he says. "We'll know for sure when the local wears off."

"He's very lucky," the nurse says. 

"It's my fault," Simon groans, and Bob pats his arm.

"I mean, I'm not gonna argue with you there, Boss," Daniel drawls. His fingers twitch as the nurse pulls out another shard. "But I'm sure at least some of the blame goes to the person that set the bomb at one am on Thursday night. Friday morning?"

"One of those," Bob says. 

The nurse finishes with the shrapnel and starts on the sutures. Doug inches closer and closer until Daniel sighs and calls him an idiot. Doug takes his uninjured hand and squeezes.

After a long, long moment, Daniel squeezes back.

Bob takes it upon himself to break the silence. “Our medical coverage is pretty insane, and this was definitely on the clock, so the department has that covered, at least.”

"Thank God," Daniel says dryly. "The medical insurance of my last job wasn't as garbage as this one."

"But we're better coworkers, right?" Simon asks.

"I mean. You didn't—" he pauses, trying to decide what to say with the nurse still in the room. "You didn't pay for my top surgery, so I definitely like the insurance better."

Bob raises an eyebrow. "Did you come out just to make a _joke_?"

"He does that," Lovelace says, and Daniel snickers.

"Would you like to refill your testosterone prescription while you're here?" the nurse asks him. "I didn't want to ask when I wasn't sure if they knew."

"Yes, I would like to continue stabbing myself every week," Daniel tells her, and she tries really hard not to smile.

"And… done." The nurse ties off her last suture. "We'll send you home with a few painkillers and send a prescription to your preferred pharmacy."

Simon watches Doug fuss over the bandages in the parking lot until Daniel actually pushes him away. "Dammit, Doug, I'm fine."

"You got blown up!"

"Not the first time," Daniel says. "I'm not in emergency surgery because I got shot for the third time, I'm fine."

"What the _fuck_ was SI-5?" Simon asks. "Like, no, I get it, bad guys, but _shot_?"

"God, how many times have I been shot?" Daniel mutters. "That time in Pittsburgh, Greece, twice in Canada, that time _Kepler_ shot me, where ever the fuck _that_ time was, the Sol… seven. Maybe eight."

Simon has the sudden, jarring image of Daniel pressing a hand to his bleeding side, teeth gritted in focused fury as he pointed a gun at some faceless enemy… 

This is really not the time for a fantasy.

“Boss. _Boss._ ”

“Huh?”

Daniel rolls his eyes. “Can I go home? I wanna take a bunch of these painkillers and fight God.”

“Punch Him in the nuts for me.” Simon sighs. “I’m… sorry. This was my fault.”

Daniel turns his gaze skyward like he’s praying for strength. “So I don’t know if you were just listening, but my last boss _literally_ shot me. On _purpose_. And then I _fucked_ him. You getting cocky and making a mistake is basically a non-issue.” 

“Jesus Christ, Jacobi,” Renée swears. 

“You make a habit of sleeping with your bosses, there, Dan?” Simon asks, and it’s supposed to be teasing, but he’s not sure it lands. 

“Not yet.” And with that, Daniel climbs into Isabel’s car. Doug smiles sheepishly and rounds to the other side, and Simon is left standing like an _asshole_ in the parking lot until Bob brings the van around.

“You okay there, boss?” he asks.

“What the fuck just happened?”

 

* * *

 

“Daniel, what the hell was that?” Renée snaps as soon as the car hits the street.

“You finally noticed,” Isabel says.

“I noticed,” Daniel says. He lays across the backseat with his head on Doug’s thigh. “Firecrackers. I think the painkillers hit.”

“Yeah, they did,” Doug tells him fondly. “So did you decide to go for it?”

“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’. “Someone explain to Min, Minkow...” He groans. “To Minnie what’s going on before she kills me.”

“Never call me that again.”

“No promises.”

“Teller has wanted to sleep with Daniel since before he knew he was _Daniel._ ” Isabel says. “I could see it when I was working with them on New Year’s. I think it’s gotten worse since he met _Jacobi_.”

“It has,” Daniel interrupts.

“Yeah, that lines up with about everything I know about him,” Isabel sighs. “Looks like Doug and Mr. About-To-Fight-God back there have something figured out?”

“I’m waiting for him to decide what he wants,” Doug tells them. “Whether just sleeping with him or actually trying something.”

“Something?” Renée repeats.

“He freaks out about the _R-Word_.”

“R-Wor—oh, right.”

“It’s not a _relationship_ ,” Daniel snaps. “Fuck you.” But those painkillers are _really_ hitting now, and his eyes won’t focus anymore, so he closes them and drifts.

**Author's Note:**

> find me at boxonthenile on tumblr and @nile_speaks on twitter
> 
> in the mood for some w359 flavored shitposts? [HappyLeech](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyLeech/pseuds/HappyLeech) and I run a texts from last nigh blog, [textsfromtheusshephaestus](https://textsfromtheusshephaestus.tumblr.com/).


End file.
